Sonata no 1 – Only Lovers Left Alive fic
by bronxdawn
Summary: I've always wondered what attracted Eve to Adam and wanted to know how and why she turned him. Then I saw the painting The Violin Student, Paris by Stephen Seymour Thomas and was suddenly inspired! (story complete)


Sonata no. 1 – "Only Lovers Left Alive" fic (1/1)

London, 16th Century

Eve was tired.

Time had seemed to fly by up until now; the decades passing like mere seconds, then hundreds of years gone by in a whirl of endless colorful experiences. She had spanned the globe, soaking up all of it with gusto; now suddenly, inexplicably she was tired.

Even being back in England on her home soil hadn't stopped the weariness she felt starting to creep into her bones or the apathetic mood beginning to take hold. It was taking longer for her to wake up each night; she found herself wanting to burrow deeper into her comfortable and safe tomb and never come out again. Her appetite wasn't nearly what it once was; she'd barely fed for a week and felt only vague hunger pangs.

Was it finally time for her to meet the sun?

She pondered this as she lounged languidly on the soft mossy ground of the cemetery, looking up at the sky full of countless stars. Suddenly she cocked her head to one side as she heard the faint strains of music floating on the night air. She got to her feet and leaped deftly over the wall, walking towards the sound.

Eve's unfailingly keen sense of hearing led her down dark and nearly deserted streets to the source of the music. She paused in front of an elegantly designed stone mansion and crept soundlessly up to the only window on the ground floor that glowed with candlelight and peered in.

A young man stood in the middle of the room playing a violin, his eyes closed in intense concentration. She guessed him to be about 25 years old, a mere boy. Pale, tall and slender, with sleek dark curls that gleamed in the candlelight. Both he and the room he stood in were dressed simply but luxuriously in fabrics that proved obvious wealth.

She was surprised to find that she didn't recognize the tune he played, though she had studied every conceivable form of music from across the world over the centuries. She realized with a startled thrill that this music was entirely new; being brought up from the depths of this young man's soul and out through his fiercely flying fingers.

He was _exquisite._

She leaned against the cool stone of the house and closed her eyes with a satisfied smile, letting the music wash over her, breathing in every glorious note. Her joie de vivre began to return. How could she even _think_ of leaving the world when there was such beauty in it? It was almost like feeling the sun on her face again, after centuries in the dark.

The _sun_!

Her eyes popped open with a start as she realized the sunrise was very close and if she wanted to survive it she'd have to hurry home. Reluctantly she moved from the window and rushed quickly away.

The following night, she awoke alert and refreshed, knowing exactly what she wanted to do. She sang cheerfully to herself as she dressed in her most flattering garments, then headed directly to the house of the young musician.

When she was still yards away from his house, an overpowering scent of fresh blood almost buckled her knees. She knew without question that the blood was the musician's.

She hurried to his front door to find it wide open. The smell of his blood was stronger still and she was suddenly ravenous as if she'd hadn't fed for years instead of days. She fought to control herself when she walked further into the room and saw him on the floor, sitting upright but slumped against a settee. His right hand rested limply on his lap, a pool of blood growing around him that gushed from a long deep gash on his wrist. In addition to the cut, she could see the hand was quite obviously broken as well, his long slender fingers crushed and gnarled. A bloody knife lay on the floor beside him.

When the man heard her strangled gasp, he raised his head to look at her, his face covered with still-flowing tears. Without preamble, as if he'd known her always, he moaned miserably, "They took my VIOLIN!"

She knelt beside him, breathing heavily. "Who did this to you? What happened?"

"I came home and there were two thieves in here, taking my possessions. One of them was holding my violin. I begged them not to take it. I didn't care about anything else. I told them, they could strip the entire house bare, just please...PLEASE leave the violin." He paused and let out a jagged sob. "They LAUGHED at me! One of them shoved me to the floor and held me down and the other one jumped on my hand to crush it. And he said, 'That's okay, lad, you won't be able to play it now anyway' and they both LAUGHED." He looked down at the hand hanging uselessly in his lap and sobbed broken-heartedly.

She picked up the bloody knife and it took all of her willpower not to lick it clean.

"And this? Did they do this to you too?"

He shook his head and closed his eyes, resting his head back on the settee. When he answered, his voice was fainter. "I did it myself...I don't want to live anymore, not without my music. It was everything to me."

With gentle fingers Eve wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks. "Look at me," she commanded softly.

He opened his eyes and stared at her, glumly at first, but as his eyes remained fixed on hers their expression softened.

"What if I told you that you COULD play violin again? Would you want to live then?"

"_Look _at my hand...you know it's not possible-"

"EVERYTHING is possible, if you just trust me." She stared into his eyes. "Will you? Trust me?"

"Yes," he breathed drowsily, his head lolling.

She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. "Then, dear boy, you _shall_ play the violin again. You shall play any instrument in the world that you like...now, close your eyes."

As soon as she saw his eyes flutter closed, she picked up his bleeding, broken hand, brought it to her lips and drank.

End

Note: I was listening to some of Bach's Sonatas for violin as I wrote this little fic (YouTube them, they're beautiful), and although Bach came along AFTER Adam was already a vampire, I decided to make it my headcanon that Adam was composing in a similar vein before Johann was, so Bach was actually sorta/kinda stealing from Adam. Adam is a bloody little prodigy, what can I say...

Also, apologies for using such modern language in a story set in the 16th century, I wrote the dialogue down as I heard it in my head and it just flows better (to me) than using more stilted formal language.


End file.
